


Conditioning

by AsparagusCrown



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Bickering, Blow Jobs, Crack, Friends With Benefits, Humor, Izuna is alive, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Madara Is a Little Shit, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with paper-thin plot, Seduction with Ulterior Motives, Silly motives, Tobirama Needs to Use His Words Better, eventual dating, sexy shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26096182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsparagusCrown/pseuds/AsparagusCrown
Summary: Since Madara started this liaison—or whatever you called a relationship that was half sex and half furtive attempts at caring—with Tobirama, figuring out what the man wanted was harder than pulling teeth. And as much as he admired the other man for his intelligence, loyalty, and ceaseless dedication to the village, and not to mention his good looks and tight ass, Madara sometimes wished that Tobirama was a bit more proactive. It was tiring to always be the one initiating, pushing for the smallest sign of physical affection. Occasionally, he wished Tobirama could just come out and say things directly, just take what he wanted instead of waiting for Madara to make the first move.He sighed, turning his face up towards the sky again. As he watched his hawk wheeling in circles above, an idea bloomed in his mind, slowly, like a drop of ink spreading through water. His lips curled into a smile. Yes, he thought, that just might work.Tobirama refuses to use his words, and Madara performs an experiment.
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Comments: 15
Kudos: 382





	1. Chapter 1

Madara brought his gloved hand up to shade his eyes from the sun and watched Benzaiten glide effortlessly through the sky, wheeling in lazy circles around Konoha’s famous forests as she rode an updraft ever higher. The sparrowhawk was one of his favorites to fly, light as sunlight and feisty enough to require delicate handling. He had always liked challenges.

With the Sharingan, he could make out every feather on her body, the minute stretches of a wing or slight adjustments to her tail feathers. A gratuitous use of his clan’s famed doujutsu, some might say, but he needed the relaxation that such a sight brought, especially after the utterly frustrating morning he’d had.

He did not have much time for such luxuries nowadays. The nurturing of a growing village came with responsibilities, political maneuverings and the attention of all the great nations, watching them like wolves for a single slip or misstep to declare the venture a failure. Considering this, he had not deigned to punch Tobirama in the face that morning. It would not do for the younger brother of one of the village’s founder, and the lover of the other, to show up with a black eye to the negotiations with the Sarutobi clan, however infuriating he was in private.

But really, though he’d found Tobirama tolerable, even agreeable, most of the time since the hard-fought peace between the two clans, there were times he wondered how the Senju had survived childhood without being strangled by his own clansmen for his lack of tact. Since they started this relationship, though they had yet to label it anything beyond a “beneficial arrangement” as Tobirama called it, he’d struggled with the urge more times than he’d like to admit.

Madara huffed, remembering the conversation that morning. All he’d wanted was a kiss to start the day after spending the entire night in bed with no meetings before sunrise, a rare luxury among their busy days. But when he’d leaned over the pillow, Tobirama had sighed and said, “Can you keep it in your pants for the morning? The Sarutobi will be here in an hour, and we don’t have the time.”

“Keep it in my pants?” Madara had felt a twinge of annoyance, prickling like a mosquito bite, that made him snap, “That’s not what you said last night.”

Tobirama’s glare had been dry as the Wind Country sand, “Really, are we going to bicker like children now?”

Madara had growled, and thrown off the covers to stalk out of the room. Before he slammed the door, he’d shouted, “If you would just dig your head out of your ass and get a clue, we wouldn’t have to!”

And that was the problem. Since he’d started this liaison—or whatever you called a relationship that was half sex and half furtive attempts at caring—with Tobirama, figuring out what the man wanted was harder than pulling teeth. And as much as he admired the other man for his intelligence, loyalty, and ceaseless dedication to the village, and not to mention his good looks and tight ass, Madara sometimes wished that Tobirama was a bit more proactive. And as much as he liked being the one to kiss first or grab said ass, it wasn’t always easy to predict Tobirama’s reaction to his advances. Two out of three times, he would respond enthusiastically, the sex would be mind-blowing. But one out of three times, he’d be rebuffed, gently or not-so-gently, and the rejection was getting stale. It was tiring to always be the one initiating, pushing for the smallest sign of physical affection.

He wasn’t desperate enough to start questioning Tobirama’s investment in their unspoken agreement; the man was reticent with his words, and often biting when he used them, but Madara was not unobservant. Tobirama expressed affection in other ways, a blanket over his shoulders when he fell asleep at his desk, a concession in the inter-clan negotiations, a note on his office door telling him that there was another jutsu for him to test in the labs. Even Hashirama and Izuna, much to the former’s delight and the latter’s irritation, had noticed the quiet ways Tobirama and Madara fit together like two senbon in a weapon’s pouch despite their outward bickering. But occasionally, he wished Tobirama could just come out and say things directly, just take what he wanted instead of waiting for Madara to make the first move.

He sighed, turning his face up towards the sky again. Benzaiten was flying further now, dipping occasionally like a fishing bob on some vast skyward sea. In a few more minutes, she would be out of even his sight. He let out a long whistle, and held out his right hand, clad in a falconer’s gauntlet, a piece of rabbit held between the fingers. Benzaiten whirled in the sky, a single graceful pirouette, and turned back towards him. She folded her wings and fell, a brown-feathered meteor hurtling towards him at furious speed. He stood his ground, grinning widely like she wasn’t about to rake talons over his upturned face. She was a dramatic one, but she was more fluff than bite. At the last minute, she unfurled her wings, outstretched her talons as if she were aiming towards prey, and grabbed onto the gauntlet, steady as if she’d meant to all along.

“Good bird,” he murmured, as she began to tear into the rabbit chunk in his fingers in a flurry of blood and fur. He stroked her with his left hand, reveling in the deceptive softness of the glossy feathers under his fingertips and tracing the delicate arch of hollow bone along her wings. For now, this was the only time she allowed him to pet her, but with time and conditioning, she would submit to it even without the offering of rabbit.

“Hmm,” his hand paused mid-stroke. An idea bloomed in his mind, slowly, like a drop of ink spreading through water. His lips curled into a smile. _Yes,_ he thought, _that just might work._

===

Tobirama was a smart man, and if Madara tried anything too out of character, he would be sure to pick up on it. So the day Madara started the experiment was a hot and muggy day, the kind of day that made him regret it ever so slightly that he had grown his hair out as it clung to the back of his neck like a living creature. Tobirama was sitting at his desk reading a stack of papers he’d brought from the Hokage tower when Madara barged into his room.

“Take off your pants.” Madara said.

Tobirama blinked up at him, owlish. It was evident from the circles under his eyes that he hadn’t slept much the night before, though Madara unfortunately couldn’t claim responsibility for his deprivation. He’d been up late finishing some experiment in his lab until the early hours of the morning.

“I still have to finish reviewing the terms for the treaty with the Sarutobi,” Tobirama said, tapping a finger on the pile.

“The paperwork will be there tomorrow,” Madara said, “This offer won’t.”

Tobirama paused for a second, mind working, before coming to an obvious conclusion. His face flushed slightly, turning a delightful pink as he shoved his chair away from the table and fumbled for the sash on his pants. Madara stalked over, smirking, and sank down between his legs. It was warm there, the air caught in a stagnant pool beneath the desk, and Madara could feel the humidity clinging like a second skin. He paused, _nice and casual, don’t let him suspect,_ and dragged his hands through his long hair, pulling it up and securing it high on his head with a leather tie.

“Now,” he purred, placing his hands on Tobirama’s knees, pushing them apart, “where were we?”

Tobirama swallowed. His pants pooled around his legs, and the paleness of his thighs only accentuated the dark color of his flushed cock, situated so deliciously close in front of Madara’s face. It was half-hard already, the head leaking precoma in large, fat drops. Madara thumbed the head with one hand, the other braced on Tobirama’s thigh, and he could feel the slight tremor at the first touch.

“Long day?” he murmured.

“Are you going to start any time soon, or should I get back to the—fuck!” Tobirama’s retort choked off as Madara lowered his lips over the tip of Tobirama’s cock, taking it as deep as he could in the first try. Tobirama hardened completely at the contact, filling his mouth. Madara glanced up through his lashes, pleased to see the wonderful flush across Tobirama’s face creeping down to his chest, turning it a lovely shade of pink as he bit his lip to cut off the gasp.

Madara bobbed his head, feeling the tip of Tobirama’s cock hit the back of his throat. The taste was not pleasant, but he had plenty of practice at this particular act, and he let the pressure stay as long as he could before lifting his head up and sinking back down again. The action had its intended effect, as Tobirama cursed, letting out his voice at last.

Madara repeated the action, swirling his tongue around the length, and eliciting more curses and even a whimper. He could feel his own erection growing underneath his robes, pressing against his suddenly too-tight pants. Tobirama always made the best sounds, even when he tried to hide them. Another thing Madara would have to work on, later. Right now, he focused on using his hand to stroke the underside of Tobirama’s dick, running gently along the vein there, and then cupping his balls, rolling them around, teasing. That elicited another groan, bitten off as Tobirama tried to muffle it with the back of his hand.

Tobirama’s other hand found its way to Madara’s head, and he felt a soft pressure there as Tobirama ran his fingers through the dark hair with surprising gentleness. That felt good, and Madara was not shy in letting out a moan, knowing how the vibrations would feel around Tobirama’s cock. The hand tightened, gripping his hair with sudden strength, and pulled him forward, and ramming the tip into the back of his throat with a bit more force than he was expecting. Reflexively, he swallowed around it, the bitter taste filling his throat. Tobirama let out a hoarse cry, forgetting his attempts to stay quiet.

Well.

Madara swallowed again as best as he could around the intrusion, feeling the shivers through Tobirama’s thigh that let him know he was close. It was intoxicating to watch, the trembling of his pale lashes, the half-lidded eyes, the glimpse of pink tongue between teeth as he panted and bit back more sounds.

At last Tobirama tugged at his hair, murmuring, “Madara, I’m—coming!”

He pulled off at the last second, letting Tobirama’s come splash across his face, blinking up at his lover through his lashes as he squeezed the last few drops out with a few more strokes. Tobirama’s eyes were unfocused in his post-orgasmic haze, and Madara savored the brief loss of control. His hand slowly released Madara’s hair, and moved forward, cupping his face. Madara knew how he must have looked, lips swollen and red, come streaked across his face, filthy and debauched.

“Like what you see?” he said, and flicked out his tongue to lick away a bit of cum near the edge of his mouth. Tobirama’s thumb followed the movement, stroking across his bottom lip in a lazy sweep, indulgent, a sharp contrast to the usual efficient movements.

“I like this,” he murmured, continuing the motion to the right side of Madara’s face, fingers grazing a lock of hair, “you should put it up more often.”

He stroked the skin under Madara’s eye, where it was thinnest, brushing over the fragile blood vessels, the chakra pathways that fed one of the most feared doujutsu as if he were touching something precious. It was a huge amount of trust to allow such a touch, so close to his eyes, but Madara leaned into the hand, tilting his head.

It was sweet really, how Tobirama seemed to lose all reservations in these moments, as if some unseen curtain had been drawn back to show the tender core of him. It lit a warmth in Madara’s chest, soft and molten, and he hoarded these moments, drinking them in like a man dying of thirst. It was a pity the moments never lasted long.

“You’re a mess,” Tobirama said, after a moment. His face had closed off again, the red eyes staring impassively down, “You should clean up before someone walks in.”

Madara scowled. _Did he always have to ruin the moment?_ “What, are you expecting your other lover to show up soon?”

“Don’t be crass,” Tobirama said, frowning. He withdrew his hand, and Madara had to fight back the urge to follow it, chasing the warmth. The curtain had fallen back into place now, and Tobirama was back to his usual self. Madara frowned. He was still aching in his pants, and the come on his face felt sticky now in the humid air. In a fit of petulance, he picked up the closest thing to clean the mess off his face.

“Did you just wipe your face on my pants?” Tobirama’s voice was a mix between incredulity and disgust. Madara smirked, balling up the dirtied garment and tossing it away.

“I guess this means you’ll have to come clean up with me,” he said, turning his smirk into more of a leer. “If you’re up for it.”

Tobirama made a non-committal sound, but Madara saw the way his eyes followed the line of Madara’s movements, lingering on his lips, his bare neck, the tent in his pants. A flint-spark of hunger flickered across his face.

“I suppose I won’t be getting any work done today anyways,” Tobirama said, standing to follow him. Madara grinned, flashing pale teeth in the shadow of the doorway. Success.


	2. Chapter 2

Madara waited until he could feel the bright pulse of Tobirama’s chakra flickering at the edge of the village, at the North gate, no doubt checking in with the sentries there, before getting out of the bath. The mission hadn’t been dangerous, but it required the utmost speed and stealth. Tobirama would be tired, but likely unhurt. He was grateful for such uncomplicated missions instead of the usual fare of assassinations and infiltrations, but he hated how often it kept them apart.

He threw on one of Tobirama’s bathrobes, then gathered up his damp hair and secured it up with a leather tie. The moisture prickled at the back of his neck in the cooler air outside the bathroom, raising goosebumps all up his arms. The chakra flickered forward, into Konoha proper, and Madara smiled. He had a bit more work to do if he wanted to give his lover a proper greeting.

When the bedroom door finally opened, Tobirama stopped short in the doorway. Madara could see the exact moment his lover’s eyes dilated, mouth opening as if to make some smart remark. He smirked looking up from his position on Tobirama’s covers. His bathrobe was tied at the waist, but loose enough at the top to give a good view of his bare chest. Underneath it, he had one hand fisted around his cock, stroking slowly.

“Welcome home,” he said, biting back a laugh at the look on Tobirama’s face, a mix of shock and annoyance and desire warring in his eyes.

“I’m back. It looks like you’re having fun without me,” Tobirama said, dryly. But Madara noticed the way his tongue flicked over his lips, unconsciously. He stepped into the room, dropping his small pack from his mission. He still had on his armor, stained with dust but no blood, to Madara’s relief.

“Well,” Madara said, opening his legs wider to let the bathrobe ride up further along his waist. He gave his cock another tug, “I’ve only just started.”

Tobirama’s eyes were glued to the sight, and he moved forward as if reeled in by an invisible hook. His hands fumbled at the clasps of his armor, and the heavy breastplate and arm guards fell to the side as he knelt down on the bed, between Madara’s knees.

“Insatiable,” he murmured, and drew Madara into a kiss. He tasted of dust and bitter herbs, sharp and medicinal. Madara licked into his mouth with a moan. Though the mission had been short, they hadn’t had much time to spare in the last month, between the vetting of new clans that wanted to join Konoha and completing the increasing burden of missions as clients began to test the capabilities of this new shinobi village.

The kiss was lazy and unhurried, more tasting and teasing than desperate lust. Madara looped an arm around Tobirama’s neck to draw him forward, feeling the muscles there relax under his touch. Tobirama moved with him, spine arching forward like some big cat stretching, pressing their chests together. There was something thrilling about the feeling of travel-worn cloth against his bare skin, something vulnerable, like baring your neck to a tiger.

He broke the kiss eventually, as he temporarily abandoned stroking his dick and reached for Tobirama’s pants with his free hand, cupping his erection through the cloth and eliciting a gasp.

“Come on,” he whispered, pressing their foreheads close, “unless you just want to kiss all night.”

Tobirama growled, and sat back up on his heels, hands fumbling with the waist of his pants. Madara mourned the brief loss of warmth, but as he propped himself up on one arm, helping his lover with his shirt. Once they were both naked, Tobirama pressed him back down again, one hand grasping both their cocks together and stroking. The friction was wonderful, just the right amount of roughness and Madara buried his face in the pale chest in front of him, his hips twitching forward involuntarily. Tobirama kept him pinned to the bed with his weight, surrounded him with the smell of sweat and coppery metal. It was not long before he felt his cock twitch, and he only had time to mumble out a warning before his muscles clenched hard, and he was coming between them with a shudder.

He regained use of his limbs after a few seconds, and though he still felt boneless, he smiled lazily up at Tobirama, who was staring down at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Looks like you had a bit too much fun earlier,” he said, wiping his hand on the sheets. There was a mocking edge to his voice, a challenge. Madara’s smile took on a predatory edge.

With a swift movement, he brought his knees up to grip Tobirama’s waist, twisted to the side and rolled them over, landing with hands on either side of Tobirama’s head. The wide-eyed look of surprise on his lover’s face was delicious, as was the way his eyes darkened with lust as Madara sat back up, letting the hard length of Tobirama’s cock rub against his ass, bare except for the thin layer of the bathrobe.

“It’s been weeks since we last had time for something like this,” he said, “I don’t intend to let it end so easily.”

“Oh?” there was the slightest hitch in Tobirama’s voice, belying the nonchalance of his expression, “Surprise me, then.”

In reply, Madara raised his hips, reaching behind to grip Tobirama’s cock, still slick with his come, and guiding it to his hole. Tobirama’s eyes widened.

“Wait, what about—”

But Madara had already lowered himself, bracing himself with a hand on Tobirama’s shoulder as he felt the tip of the cock slip past the ring of muscle. Tobirama’s protest turned into a groan. His hands came up to grip at Madara’s hips, fingers digging into the divot between muscles there as he tried not to buck up into the tight heat.

“I prepared myself before you got here,” Madara said with a smirk, and sank down to the hilt. The stretch burned, but the previous preparation ensured that there was no sharp pain, just a sense of fullness in his gut. Combined with his hypersensitivity after his orgasm, it punched the air out of his lungs, left him gasping and clutching desperately at the body beneath him, anything to anchor himself to the moment. He paused, trying to catch his breath.

“Gods,” Tobirama groaned, ragged.

Madara glanced down and saw Tobirama staring up at him, something like wonder in his eyes, the same look he wore when he saw a new jutsu performed for the first time, or when he surveyed the newly built shops and houses of Konoha from atop the Hokage mountain, as if he could not believe such a thing could exist outside of dreams and fantasy.

Madara jolted forward as he felt fingers probing at his entrance, where it was stretched tight around Tobirama’s cock. The touch was light, but sent shocks up his spine, as if each gentle brush were a bolt of lightning. His own cock twitched in interest, despite his recent release.

“You,” his lover whispered, “are going to be the death of me.”

Because he did not have the words to respond, Madara ground his hips down once again in reply, feeling the tip of Tobirama’s cock brush somewhere inside him that lit up the space behind his eyes, like the moon through the trees. His mouth opened, soundless in his pleasure, and he gasped for breath, feeling like the air had suddenly turned to syrup. Tobirama jerked his hips up, striking that spot again as his hands moved back up to the trim waist, pulling down in counterpoint to his thrust. His grin was sharp, his pupils dilated until the ring of familiar red iris was overtaken by darkness. There was something ravenous in his gaze now, as if he wanted to devour Madara whole. It stirred something hungry in Madara, rising up to meet the challenge.

“You—asshole,” Madara laughed, even as he felt his cock stiffen again with each stroke to his prostate sending jolts of pleasure through him, embers sparking along each nerve ending.

Their bodies moved together in perfect counterpoint, synchronized to a beat only they could hear. Skin moved against slick skin, the sound of flesh against flesh filling the room. Madara felt as if he were riding a fast-moving current, drawing him down and pulling him apart. He clung to stretch of taut muscle beneath his fingers, the pressure of roving hands along his back and down, the stretch and burn of friction with each rise and fall, as if these things could keep him from drowning.

At last, Tobirama tightened his grip, digging fingers into his thighs so tightly they would definitely leave marks the next morning, and came. The rush of warm liquid filled Madara, and he felt his own release soon behind. He reached a hand down to stroke his cock, and it took only a few pulls before he was spilling out in the space between them.

He slumped down, rolling to avoid hitting Tobirama head on, and almost whimpered at the emptiness as Tobirama jostled loose. But he felt the warm body next to him relax, even a hand reached over and curled over the back of his neck. He turned, catching sight of his lover’s flushed face, his lips lifting into a rare smile, soft and drowsy.

“You are unbelievable,” Tobirama grumbled, though the words were too soft to be anything but fond. His eyes fluttered shut.

“And you’re insufferable. I don’t know why I tolerate you.” Madara sighed.

There was no reply. Madara sighed, raising his head slightly. Tobirama must really be tired, if he didn’t want to say anything worse than that. Still, because he was feeling generous and didn’t want to deal with the bitching about stickiness in the morning, he wiped the two of them off as best as he could with the bathrobe before sinking down into the warm covers.

And if he had let his Sharingan flicker on for a brief second, to record the last remnants of the smile as Tobirama sank into sleep, well, there was no one to tell.


	3. Chapter 3

Madara knew that his plan was working when Tobirama stopped in the middle of a blowjob and frowned.

“Aren’t you hot with all that hair?” he said, even as Madara groaned, wishing for the wet heat to be back around his cock _right now_.

“I suppose,” he said, but obligingly produced a hair tie. He secured his hair in a high knot, with Tobirama watching all the while, before digging a heel into his lover’s back, a sharp prompt to get his mouth back where it was useful.

Tobirama smiled, something soft and indulgent, a gesture that left Madara reeling, stunned like a bird fallen out of its nest. Then he did that thing with his tongue, and the resulting orgasm had Madara gasping for breath.

“Your flush goes all the way down to your neck,” Tobirama observed, plopping himself down on Madara’s lap. He began licking his way down said neck, as if he could chase it like the receding tide.

“You—don’t say,” Madara tilted his head, then gasped as Tobirama bit down on the junction between his neck and shoulder, just hard enough to sting. The warm, wiggling weight on his lap was starting to give him ideas.

“Hmm, I wonder how much further down it goes.” Tobirama said, reaching a hand into the open collar of Madara’s loose robes. His fingers wandered down Madara’s chest, over firm muscles toned by years of training, tweaking a nipple on the way. Madara growled, cupping the ass that was so distracting, and squeezing. The body on his lap shuddered, a hand clutched at the back of his neck, and Madara smiled.

“I’ll show you mine,” he said, “If you show me yours.”

==

Madara was not usually one for festivals, but Hashirama had decided to throw a massive celebration for the official induction of the Sarutobi clan into Konoha, in the middle of winter no less. He’d said something about being a welcoming village, though Madara was pretty sure he just wanted an excuse to get drunk off his ass. There were bonfires and dancing, and all the alcohol Hashirama had hoarded over the summer months. The scent of roasting meat and fragrant wine filled the cold air, accompanied by the occasional burst of Uchiha-crafted firecrackers and laughter.

Madara slipped out of the formal welcoming party at the first chance, with an excuse about keeping his clansmen in line, ignoring Tobirama’s glare at being left in charge of the niceties with the Sarutobi. He found himself splitting a bottle of sake with his brother on the rooftop of the newly built hospital building, a perfect location for watching a gaggle of children, some Uchiha and some not, running around the central town square, setting off firecrackers and waving sparklers around like tiny embers burning bright. The sound of laughter rang in the cold air, mingling with the smell of smoke and incense. The sight warmed him, despite the bitter cold. After all, wasn’t it for this that they had worked so hard to build up the village, to foster the fragile green seeds of peace between rival clans?

“Izuna,” Madara said, smirking as he glanced over at his brother, “do you remember the New Year’s celebration, the winter you turned ten, where you accidentally lit a firework without planting it correctly?”

Izuna groaned, though there was a smile curling at the corner of his mouth, “How could I forget? Father made me scrub the soot out of the entire bathhouse with my bare hands. In the middle of winter!”

Madara snorted in laughter, earning an elbow from Izuna, “At least the brats nowadays know how to aim.”

He leaned back, avoiding Izuna’s indignant arm-waving, and took another sip of sake. He did not even care if anyone saw the uncharacteristic smile on his face, wide and bright, like a slash of comet-trail across the sky. He allowed Izuna to continue whining about bringing up past embarrassments, before his brother finally decided he had reminisced enough and flop down with his head in Madara’s lap, already drowsing like a sun-drunk cat. Madara idly ran a hand through the mess of dark hair suddenly within reach, feeling the soft strands like a small animal’s pelt. It brought back memories of childhood, when Izuna would curl up against him in the yard to watch the snow fall, his body a tiny pulsing ember of warmth.

It was times like these, when he could listen to the children cheering for the fireworks and not worry about how many would be left after the next round of conflict, when he could feel Izuna’s furnace-hot body next to him, lazy and alive, that he felt a sense of bone-deep contentment, banking the roaring flame at his core. This was his village, his dream, the culmination of decades of ceaseless hope made solid before him at last.

Another group entered the central square, approaching the stalls where vendors from various clans hawked grilled meats and vegetables, sweets, and festive gifts. They wore warm coats adorned with the Sarutobi crest, and a familiar shock of white hair stood out amongst them like a bolt of lightning among the trees. It seemed like Tobirama had finished the tour of the village at last, and was preparing to deposit the visiting party at the hub of festivities.

An idea trickled its way down through his mind, aided by the buzz of sake in his head. His soft smile turned sharp, teeth and flicking tongue. With a glance towards the delegation, which was still making small talk with Tobirama as they ambled leisurely over to the marketplace, he slowly extricated his hand from under Izuna’s shoulder and untied the hair tie he had begun keeping around his wrist. With one more glance to catch Tobirama’s eye, he tied his hair up in a few deft motions.

_Now we’ll see if all the hard work has paid off._

He saw the change the moment it happened. Tobirama stopped abruptly, face going slack as the Sarutobi clan leader—Sarutobi Sasuke if he remembered correctly—paused in confusion. Even from this distance, Madara could see the way Tobirama’s mouth moved soundlessly, a fish gasping for breath on land, and his eyes dilated as he stared at the Uchiha sitting on the roof.

“Why are you tying up your hair?” Izuna asked, blinking up at him from his lap, “You never tie up your hair.”

“Just a bit warm,” Madara replied, nonchalant. It wasn’t even a lie; the alcohol, combined with the warmth of Izuna on his lap, and his own high body heat meant that he was still flushed all the way down past the collar of his yukata, feeling the sweat pool in the hollows of his collarbones. He spared another glance down at Tobirama, who seemed to be saying something to excuse himself from the guests. Madara snickered as he saw the red flush, especially visible on Tobirama’s pale skin, and the stiff way he walked as he quickly made his escape. His gaze lingered on Madara though, sharpened to a knife’s edge. Madara read a promise in the glare, and his lips quirked involuntarily.

“Was that Tobirama?” Izuna asked, propping himself up slightly to see over the edge of the roof, “Where is he going in such a hurry?”

“Who knows,” Madara said with a lazy shrug, “Probably forgot a time-sensitive experiment or something.”

Izuna squinted up at him, “That’s your scheming face. What did you do?” He considered a second, then shook his head vehemently, “Actually, you know what, I probably don’t want to know.”

Madara shrugged again, “Who cares about that stick in the mud. If I recall, Hashirama said that there would be fireworks about now. I’ll race you to the top of the mountain.”

Izuna leapt up, eager for a distraction. All his previous lethargy disappeared at the promise of fireworks and brotherly competition.

“Last one there has to buy the sake!” he shouted, as he began leaping over the rooftops.

==

Madara headed back home from the festival, still half out of breath from his race—which he had lost gracefully, because Izuna was a cheating brat who used underhanded tactics like siccing a clingy-drunk Hashirama on his brother. His hair brushed the back of his neck, and he remembered belatedly that he had not let it down in his haste to catch up.

As he rounded the last corner, two strong hands seized his shoulders and dragged him inside. Tobirama slammed him into the door as soon as it closed, with enough force to actually sting. He brought their faces together until Madara could feel the breath against his lips, warm and inviting, a faint hint of spun sugar and hawthorns.

“You,” Tobirama growled, “sneaky, insufferable, infuriating man.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Madara replied, putting on what he hoped was a look of beatific innocence.

“In front of the Sarutobi? Are you trying to sabotage our foreign relations?”

“How is it my fault that you have less self-control than a dog in rut?” Madara said with a raised eyebrow, though he could not help the smile at the corner of his lips.

In response, Tobirama’s grip tightened on his shoulders, hard enough to bruise. There was a mouth at his neck, nipping and biting just shy of breaking skin. The pain sent a thrill through him, lighting a fuse along his nerve endings until it burst like fireworks in the back of his mind. He rolled his shoulders, tilting his head to allow better access.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” Tobirama paused in his ministrations to murmur his ear, “Maybe I should have taken you right there in front of the delegation. What would they have thought, seeing the esteemed founder being fucked like a bitch in heat?” Madara couldn’t help the jolt of want that went straight down to his groin at the words. He could feel the flush creep up his face, as he stared up in surprise. Tobirama was rarely this forward, and his bedroom talk usually resembled classroom instructions more than sweet nothings. Madara was mortified to find out how much he liked this side of his lover.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, though his voice sounded weak even to his own ears.

“You seem to enjoy the thought,” Tobirama whispered. He brought his thigh up between Madara’s legs, rubbing the growing erection with just enough pressure to draw a gasp from Madara as he jerked forward, chasing the contact.

“Asshole,” Madara snapped, but all the heat had gone out of him. The feeling of bodies pressed together, flesh separated by only a thin layer of fabric, was too much. The room felt too hot, his skin too tight to contain the growing heat. He leaned his head back against the door, panting.

Tobirama groaned, and with a barely audible sigh, drew away. Madara let out a sound that was definitely not a whine at the sudden cold air replacing the previous warmth.

“Eager?” Tobirama smirked. Before he could answer, Madara found himself hoisted bodily over a shoulder, which impacted his stomach hard enough to knock the breath out of him.

“Put me down, you idiot!” He screeched, clawing at the offending shoulder.

Tobirama took a few quick steps and dropped him unceremoniously on the futon, face down. Dark hair spilled across the sheets in an inky mess. He wasted no time pressing down with his full weight, pinning an arm awkwardly against the small of Madara’s back with one hand, the other keeping its grip on the opposite wrist.

Madara wiggled, testing the strength of the grip. It held, just tight enough that he couldn’t break out without resorting to chakra enhanced strength. Tobirama shifted above him, and suddenly there was something hard pressing insistently against his ass. He smirked into the pillow.

“Have you been hard this whole time?” He murmured. The thought of Tobirama stomping off and trying to hide his erection, Tobirama waiting frustrated for him to get home, sent a throb of possessiveness through him, even as he laughed at the image. He was the only one who could drive him crazy like this, after all.

In response, Tobirama sank teeth into the back of his neck, and the laugh turned into a yelp.

“What the hell,” he hissed, “Are you a fucking cat?”

“I can’t help it,” Tobirama said, “Besides, isn’t this what you wanted with your little trick? I’ll admit, I should have seen it coming. The increase in sex, the hair ties. But you can be—” he soothed the bite with his tongue, running it over the inflamed skin, “—quite distracting.”

“I wouldn’t have to resort to training if you’d just told me what you wanted instead of having me try to read your mind,” Madara grumbled, but not too vehemently. The back of his spine throbbed, a mix of heat and pleasure. When Tobirama bit down on another patch of skin, along his jawline, he did not protest beyond a slight shudder. This time, teeth worried the skin, but did not bite down, instead teasing and nipping, light, purposeful touches like a falcon preening its wings. Madara let himself relax into the motions, not caring for now that there would be marks there the next day. Eventually, though, the nips and teasing bites weren’t enough. He shifted impatiently. His pants were uncomfortably tight, and the hand Tobirama pinned behind his back was starting to grow numb.

“If you’re just going to tease, I’ll find something better to do,” he growled, shifting backwards. His pinned hand groped downward, taking advantage of the loosened grip, and found its target in the stiffness in Tobirama’s pants.

“Such impatience.” Tobirama murmured. But he obligingly let up the pressure and flipped Madara over so that they were pressed chest to chest. Pale hair haloed a flushed face, as if he’d just come in from the bitter cold, and his lips were bitten red. He looked like some winter god in the watery sunlight, half frostbitten dream and half solid flesh.

Madara reached out to draw him in to a kiss, but Tobirama frowned, and grasped his hands in one of his own, slamming them down above his head.

“No, I’ll say when you can touch.” He said.

Madara grumbled, but Tobirama cut him off with a kiss that devolved into tongues battling for dominance, breaths mingling.

“Isn’t this what you wanted,” he said, “For me to use my words? Take what I want?” His voice rasped against Madara’s ear, like rustling feathers and pine needles crunching underfoot. It sent something primal in him howling and leaping for joy, lit his veins on fire and filled his marrow with molten honey, sweet and burning.

“Well? Is it?” Tobirama said again, nosing the side of his neck, his breath a tickle of static shock, “Use your words.”

“Yesss,” Madara gasped, though his tongue felt thick and stumbling with sudden need.

In reward, Tobirama dipped his tongue into the hollow of Madara’s throat, mouthing at the delicate skin above the rapid thrum of his pulse. He continued leaving marks, all down the exposed skin of Madara’s neck, his clavicle, shoulders, the thin strip of chest not completely covered by the yukata. The slow touches had Madara writhing, fighting against the hold on his wrists, not knowing whether to move forward for more contact, or backwards in frustration. He wrapped his legs around the thin waist, digging heels into the plates of ceremonial armor to pull his lover in, slotting them together with just enough friction to tease. Tobirama let out a gasp at the contact, and Madara growled in frustration.

Finally, it was Tobirama who reached a snapping point first. He sat up abruptly, face flushed a delicate pink, like twilight skies, and released Madara’s wrists.

“Clothes. Off.” He snapped, already plucking impatiently at the loose collar of Madara’s robe.

Any other time, Madara would have a quick retort, something about how forward he was, but now he was achingly hard, and all he wanted was to touch, to taste. The thought of all the vast expanses of pale skin hidden by the ceremonial armor drove all the words from his tongue. His own yukata was simple enough to shed, and once he was done he reached for Tobirama’s armor, helping him remove the blue plates and starched robes underneath.

“Finally,” he groaned, leaning forward to lick a stripe down the pale chest in front of him.

“No.” Tobirama buried a hand in his hair and jerked him back. Madara growled, scalp stinging and head bent at an awkward angle.

“Damnit, Tobirama—” His eyes flashed red, and he twisted, ready to grip at the offending hand. The nerve—

“No,” Tobirama repeated, firmly. It was a voice Madara recognized, the one he used to speak to his misbehaving birds, “I’ll lead.”

Madara stilled, body taut, like a kite string, held still against the wind. There was no hesitation Tobirama’s voice, and his gaze was steady as the Hokage mountain in a storm. The gaze held for a second that stretched into a slow eternity, as if they had been caught in a Tsukiyomi illusion, wills warring in a silent battle. Finally, Madara relented. The tension leaked out of his body, slowly, like a reservoir draining, and he sank back down into the futon, letting his arms hang loose by his sides.

“If you think you can handle it,” he murmured, though the retort lacked the heat of a true insult.

Satisfaction filled Tobirama’s eyes, a predator’s triumph. It sent a burning thrill through Madara, lightning quick, melting his last vestiges of resistance.

Tobirama wasted no time surging forward, bringing his head up into a searing kiss, hand tight in the dark locks, tongues warring until he tasted blood. Hands roamed over his body, methodically tracing the outlines of old scars, pausing to playfully pinch a nipple, eliciting a hiss from Madara. Madara couldn’t help the small forward movement as fingers traced the outline of his hard dick, but they moved away, as Tobirama pressed him harder into the futon.

“Not yet,” he murmured into the kiss. There was the clink of a glass bottle—the oil he kept at the bedside table, when had Tobirama found that?—before he felt the probing fingers circling his entrance.

“Come on,” he panted, an edge of a whine to his voice. He was painfully hard, and his hands itched to grab on to the pale hair. “Sometime before I die of old age would be nice.”

“You really like trying my patience,” Tobirama murmured. But the slick finger slid inside him at last. A few wiggles, and a second joined the first, scissoring inside him, stretching and finally pressing down on a spot that had Madara seeing white, clenching down hard. He felt loose, raw, a mix of the alcohol and the intensity of Tobirama’s gaze, hungry and hard, as if he could see straight through the skin and bone and sinew, to the beating heart of him.

Two fingers became three, and he found himself pushing back into each thrust, clutching at the sheets behind him. It was still not enough. He whined, giving up all reservations now, bringing his hands up to brace against strong shoulders.

“Tobirama,” he said, “please—”

Tobirama let out a low groan, as if the words had cut him.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Tobirama said, burying his face into Madara’s chest, biting down on the hard pectoral muscle, as if in accusation, “The way you look at me, the way you let me—” he broke off, and Madara felt something hot, and thick, larger than a finger, prodding at his entrance. He opened his legs and welcomed him in.

Tobirama pushed in, smoothly in one slow stroke. The stretch bordered on painful, but the quick preparation and looseness in his muscles made it bearable, on the edge of pleasure. They both groaned as Tobirama bottomed out, pausing as he got used to the tightness. Tobirama stretched forward, kissing Madara again, slow and languorous, running his tongue over bitten lips and sharp canines.

Eventually, though, he grew used to the sensation of being filled, and the tiny shifts with each movement churning at his sensitive walls became less uncomfortable and more pleasurable. He wrapped a leg around Tobirama’s waist, a subtle dig of his heel into the taut muscle of his lover’s lower back served to remind him to get moving. Tobirama broke off the kiss, a look of fondness tinged with exasperation in his eyes as he braced his arms on either side of Madara’s head.

“I thought we agreed I was leading?” he grumbled.

“You are. I’m just settling in, as this obviously is going to take all night.”

“Infuriating,” Tobirama murmured, and punctuated it with a slow thrust. He quirked an eyebrow at the gasp it elicited.

“Yes,” Madara hissed, digging his heel in deeper, tilting his head back into the pillow. The drag of skin against sweat-streaked skin, the huff of breaths close enough to mingle, the white-hot core of heat inside him—it was both too much and just perfect. Tobirama took the invitation and dipped his head again, mouthing at the thin patch of skin above his pulse, just a hint of teeth that had Madara clenching down hard on his cock, caught at the knife’s edge between danger and pleasure. Such a fragile layer of skin and muscle, to be protecting the source of his lifeblood.

Tobirama began to move faster, building up speed like the beginnings of an avalanche. He reached one hand down to grab at Madara’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. They had never been loud during sex—a lifetime of training to keep silent, keep hidden was too hard to stamp out—but Madara couldn’t help the hitches in breath, the muffled gasps as Tobirama hit his prostate with the precision he reserved for battle, each move a killing blow.

The orgasm came up almost unnoticed, pressure built up beneath his skin, pooling heat in his lower belly, until he had only enough time to grab tightly onto Tobirama’s shoulders, clinging on desperately as he came.

Tobirama grunted at the sudden tightness as Madara spasmed around him. A few more thrusts were enough to bring him over the edge as well, and he bit down hard on the shoulder in front of him as he came, until the air filled with the coppery tang of blood, mixed in with the sweat and sex. Then, he lowered himself until he lay over Madara, boneless and relaxed, regardless of the mess between them.

Madara didn’t speak, too busy catching his breath and waiting for his heart to stop beating its way out of his chest. In the end, it was Tobirama who broke the satiated silence.

“You don’t look horrible with your hair up,” he said, softly, with the bluntness of sleep already creeping in to his voice.

“So I look horrible with it down?”

A groan, frustrated and fond at the same time, “That’s not—what I mean to say is—” he pushed himself up on wobbly elbows, eyes focused on a spot between Madara’s clavicles, refusing to meet his questioning gaze. There was a flush on his cheeks again, but it was not exertion. In fact, it looked almost like— _huh._

Tobirama took a breath, and said, much too quickly, “Would you like to get dinner one of these days?”

Madara raised his eyebrows, feeling a tendril of something warm in his chest, like new buds in spring. But still, he couldn’t resist, “We get dinner with Hashirama at least once a week.”

Tobirama frowned, looking up to meet his gaze at last, eyes filled with exasperation and affection.

“Don’t be dense. I meant the two of us. Just the two of us. Together.”

Well, that was likely the best he would get, with Tobirama’s face growing redder than a cherry-hot coal. Madara smiled.

“Yes.” He said, “I would.”


End file.
